Morphine
by Imsii
Summary: was his love.


_We love, we live_

_We give what we can give_

_And take what little we deserve_

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><p>On the twenty-fourth of December, he went back to the place where he was born.<p>

It had been twelve years of waiting for this moment. Twelve years of regret. Twelve years of agony. Twelve years of waiting for _her_. Time could be a cruel mistress; the only thing that had power over him. For even a man like him couldn't control time. It passed in a steady stream, the only reliable thing in life that someone could rely on. The strokes of the clocks would always pass, always.

"I'm home" He whispered bowing his head slightly as his hand strayed up to the tip of his hat. Sliding it off of his head; he would tuck it under his arm as he stepped into the church. Even at a whisper, his voice seemed too loud; too harsh for the place. It seemed as if time never passed here; the graceful building still in the shape it had been in, all of those years ago. It only seemed as if it were yesterday; half of him expected that he would hear the pitter patter of her feet as she ran to greet him once more.

Still the walls stood resolutely; only thin cracks running through the wood. Devoid of pews, the dark wood paneling covered the entirety of the floor; the stone walls matching it in coldness. She had been the one to change the coldness; to make the place feel alive, sacred even. Now all that remained of her influence was the large patch of yellow daisies that still grew in the center of the church beneath the desecrated statue of Mary.

Inhaling the dusty air; he could still smell the lingering scent of roses mingled with daisies. It was her scent and his salvation. It surrounded him; an intoxicating balm to the pain that always was with him. Carefully he would move to kneel in front of the flowers; careful not to crush their delicate forms. She would have given him hell if he had. For such a little lady, her anger was the only thing he feared.

She had always claimed that she grew the flowers as an offering to Mary and to poor, lost souls that Mary looked after. He had never been one to understand religion or why death would bring peace. Living was about taking all that you could before you became part of the dirt. That was before he had understood the cost of living.

Now he would willingly be lovers with Death.

"Real lucky to be here still." He muttered underneath his breath. Not once had he ever believed in Heaven. When a bullet went through your head; you were dead and that was that. None of this afterlife nonsense; no Heaven or Hell. There was simply nothing.

_She'd_ changed that.

She made him want to believe that there was something more out there. He knew that there would be nothing more for him or a son of a bitch like Tommy Angelo. Too much blood had stained his hands; his fingers always slightly curled inwards, as if he always had his last victim's neck still in between them. But for her; for her he wanted to believe that there would be more than withering away into nothing.

He had never been a religious man despite his ma's best attempts at cramming all of her religious bullshit down his throat. Yet after the death of Joe, he'd found himself wandering into the church that nested itself into one of the most run down, shittiest parts of town. For years it had stood there; seemingly untouched by any of the scummy chinks that lived about it. He'd always passed it without a second glance – that was until that day, the day he met her.

His life had fallen apart when Joe had died. Joe, his best friend, Joe the nonsense to his reason. He was the definition of immortal to Vito; Joe had always been larger than life. Even when they were teenagers, he had been a wise guy from day one. Running with the bull dogs on the street; he hadn't been afraid of anyone or anything.

It had never occurred to Vito that there would come a day when Joe was gone; snuffed out like one of the fags that was always poised between his lips.

He'd have bet that Joe would have become a Boss, a shark at the top before he died while Vito lived. To think otherwise would have been impossible. Yet, when had his life ever been put together? His life had been a shit fest since day one. Nothing ever made sense like it should have.

It made sense in a twisted way, why he had been so attracted to join the Family. Or rather why the Mafia – the Family had chosen him. He was just a low-end, street rat working here and there for mere pennies. Like sharks they had circled him; enticing him with the idea of easy money and people to consider his brothers.

The bosses had always hated how the Feds' had taken to calling them the Mafia. Family they called it instead; family meant safety, innocent dealings, and friendly relationships with each other.

What a fucked up family he belonged to.

Vito had never been one to think too much about things; however even he understood how easily he could be taken advantage of.

If you dangled something shiny in front of a rat, they were going to reach out and take it. Something shiny could promise to be a jewel to the rat's eyes; yet just be a shiny, bottle cap in reality. How many times had the Family screwed him over? Too many times to count.

And yet he stayed.

It wasn't as if it would be so fucking easy as to open the door and walk out on the Family, that didn't happen. Besides it was a world where scum like himself could feel _powerful_. He could play at being God; choosing to kill when he wanted or was ordered to. Never were there any consequences. That's what he always had told himself. Except the consequences of his hands being bathed in blood and his best friend being maggot food.

Yeah, sure, there were no consequences.

And so on that day, he must have made quite a sight. Wobbling into the church with a scotch in one hand, he'd clumsily toasted Mary, a sinner's blessing. Falling to his knees in mock prayer, it was then as his lips had muttered incoherent sentences that she had appeared.

Out from the shadows she had crept to the place in front of him where a thin bit of sunlight streamed in. Through his blurred vision; he had looked up to her. For once he had thought he had drunk himself into infinity; wallowing in the ocean of painless alcohol. Joe would have called him a damn fool for doing so.

"_Angel?" He had whispered; for once in his life not reaching for the gun that rested uneasily in his pocket. _

"_No silly, my name is Aerith!" _

And then she had smiled.

Her cherry pink lips had tilted upwards; her serene expression becoming enlightened. She wasn't like the women he saw painted on cigar boxes; all vulgar and painted to look like a bunch of old, expensive broads. No, no one could compare to her beauty.

Her smile made him feel _alive_.

Before her he had simply been existing; letting the seconds turning into minutes, the minutes into hours, and the hours into days. It had meant nothing, nothing at all.

That was the day he started to live.

Again and again he had come back to her; always wanting to linger in her presence.

She brought him peace. In her presence he was free, at least for a time, from the guilt that followed him about Joe's death. They had been meaning to go together to kill the man; Tony was his name. He had stolen money from a friend of the Family's, interrupting the flow of business. Despite the simplicity of the assignment; he had surprised them all by showing up at Joe's door step, shooting him as soon as he had opened the door.

He had killed Joe like a son of a bitch, too cowardly to even have given Joe a fair fight against him. For not being there to help him; for not taking care of Tony sooner, Vito would never forgive himself. He had always sworn that he would never become like his father. Yet in the months following Joe's death, he had easily sank into becoming an ever willing victim of the bottle.

Yet slowly she had convinced him to ease off of it; holding him when he shook with withdrawal and brushed away his tears.

She was the only person who had ever seen Vito cry.

And she was the first person Vito ever let in.

It was the first time he had started to feel weak, defenseless even. It unnerved him to absolution how one mere female, barely at the cusp of womanhood could make him feel this way. It was an insatiable desire to even be around her. Over the months he came to visit, he could feel himself tumbling into a fierce and bizarre madness.

She was all he could think about. Her touch was forever a part of him; her caresses enough for him to fall into the deepest adoration. A word from her would be enough happiness for a lifetime. A tear from her would be enough to make him slaughter the masses; all to make her happy once more.

It seemed as if he had done everything with her yet nothing at all. They hadn't kissed, only once had her hand tentatively brushed against his. He couldn't remember a time before that when someone had touched him willingly and gently; instead of out of anger. Flinching at her touch; he had quickly pulled his hand back from hers.

He didn't know how to be soft.

He only knew how to break things, not how to create them.

Only twice had she told him that she loved him; the two times making Vito's world come to a stop.

Only three times had Vito laughed with her.

And never, never had Vito said goodbye as he walked out the door after each visit was over. He had always despised saying goodbye. Goodbye was what somebody said before they capped you. Goodbyes only ended things, never started or continued matters. And he didn't want it to end; this mad fascination he had with her.

No matter what he did, she was always there; remaining in the back of his mind.

"_I have twenty-three tiny wishes, but you probably won't remember them all, so I put them all together into one... I'd like to spend more time with you."_

He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, all at the same time whenever he read those words. It was the note that always remained stuffed into his pocket; still folded exactly four times, just like when she had given it to him. The words were forever imprinted in his memory. It was as if she had known that Vito was going to leave soon. She had pressed it into his hand before he had left; her hopeful eyes saying more than words could ever express.

She had wanted him to _stay_.

But they both had known deep down that he wouldn't.

Every time he closed his eyes; the words were there. Her hand writing flowed easily across the page; the cursive neat and clean. Even now he could trace his gaze over every stroke of the pen; even where towards the end she had pressed the pen too hard against the page, making a bit of ink splatter against the "u".

How could she spend a wish on wanting to spend time with him? How could she smile or laugh with him? How could she –

How could she_ love_ him?

He wasn't a man, he was a monster parading as a man. Only she had seen behind the mask. Only she had captured the heart of the man and soothed the ravaging beast the man.

The fact that she loved him terrified him. How could he trust himself not to hurt her? How could he be deserving of her? He had no concept of how to love; his awkward attempts at talking to women having always made Joe laugh until he had stitches in his sides.

Joe had always said men used women for one purpose only. You fucked them and that was that, no strings attached. Feelings stayed the hell out of it; love was reserved for mothers only. Joe had always described love as some novelty idea created by some dumb broad to make sure the man stayed after a one night stand. Even if a woman was a whore, they'd always claim love was involved.

Love was something people like him weren't supposed to feel with good reason. It was _dangerous_ – it made you weak. It made him feel powerless; lost to this mysterious emotion, one that he couldn't do anything about. He wanted to protect her, possess her, and he wanted for her to be with him always.

But that was impossible; merely a dream. In his line of work, peace was for the weak. The meek may be blessed to inherit the world but in the real world, the meek simply existed to be taken advantage of. Vito didn't try and see the world through rose tinted glasses. People either were meek and were taken advantage of or became the bullies, the scum rats who banded together. That was why if you were smart or had dumb luck; you joined the Family. Once embedded in the folds of the Family; there wasn't a way out.

Even in death they would own you, taking everything and anything from you. In death, you joined the meek – that was the cost of safety. Family was supposed to take care of its own but in the Family, that extension only lasted if you played by the rules. Even when you did, the Family was liable to turn on each other in any moment; spurred on by the example set by Cain and Able.

_"You know when I first started out, I thought I was gonna be the biggest, baddest wiseguy in the world."_

"_And now?" She had asked earnestly; as if sensing that something was lingering behind his words._

"_Now I feel like the worst person in the world."_

Joe had always said that it was okay to be a coward as long as you had the balls to admit you were one. He had always fiercely disagreed with him. A man was a man, you weren't ever supposed to run away with your tail tucked between your legs.

But he had run anyways.

It was the day that he had gone to kill Eric, his sister's boyfriend that he had lost it. Once again Francesca had showed up on his doorstep; black and blue from Eric's "punishments" for her. All Vito could see was her; Aerith in Francesca's place. In a moment he had been over at Eric's to have a chat; his fingers aching with the need to end him.

And he had.

As soon as Eric had toppled over drunk; Vito had beaten him as Eric had his sister. Blind with rage he had beaten him as he would a dog; the sickening crunch of bones breaking filling his ears, encouraging his rage. Lost in it he had been oblivious to reason. It had always been like that.

The rage that lurked deep within him was his own demon. It was something he couldn't fight, only temporarily chain it up before releasing it in moments like this. It would always consume him; taking over his senses and guiding his actions. His rage was his God. And that was when he had heard_ her_ voice in his ear.

"_Everything's alright_." She murmured again and again; just as she had done the day he had stumbled into the church. Through the darkness, only her voice was able to pull him through. Her voice had been the only thing that had made him stop before he killed the man's remains, again. He had been horrified with the crimson blood that stained his hands. How could he ever touch her with them? How could a monster like him even_ deserve _to be in her presence?

The man he was would never change because it was the monster, just as the monster as the man.

He had run as fast and as far as he could have. Drowning himself once more in alcohol, he had submitted to the substance, loving its control over him. Under its control; he couldn't feel, he couldn't think, hell if he could breathe. He had fled from their love; attempting instead to chase his fear. His thought had been that he could keep her safe by keeping the ever looming Family away from her, out of her life. And underneath it all; his feelings for her had frightened him. He wasn't meant to love someone. He was only meant to kill. That was his purpose. What a god damned fool he had been.

The Family always knew its secrets.

On his birthday he had unwrapped a package; the package only held a single item.

A yellow daisy.

He had known what had happened; the wheels of his car screeching as he made his way to the church. It had been too late to save her; to do anything except to gather her into his arms as he had wept. Furiously he had sworn that he would avenge her, no matter the cost.

The day that she had died was the day he had died.

It hadn't been a struggle to find out just who had killed her. It had been a miserable dock worker; a mere child of fifteen who had strangled Vito's hopes and deepest dreams. Without a second thought he had taken care of him; effectively making sure the twenty-four bullets in his skull had killed him. Twenty three bullets for the twenty-three wishes the boy had taken from them.

And one bullet for his promise to her.

"_I feel so safe with you, Vito."_

"_You do, Tesoro?"_

"_Promise me you'll always come back, no matter what, Vito."_

"_Promise." _

Not a day had gone by that he hadn't remembered that promise to her. Not a day had gone by that he hadn't crossed off a small tally on the cell wall; marking when he would be able to fulfill his promise to her.

In the shadows she had always been, taunting him with her presence; without ever truly being there. It was always just a wisp of her scent, a laugh here, a glimmer of her there. For all of the time he had been away in the pen, she had been there with him. Yet she had always been just a dream; a faint memory that loved to tease him in his self-imposed torture. Now this would change – he was going to keep good on his promise and come back to her.

Then they would be together.

Forever.

Looking up towards the crack in the roof of the church that allowed light to come streaming in; his lips would slowly inch upwards into a smile. His body reacted slowly to form this foreign movement; his features cracking in a morbid way. The thought of her was enough to make his heart beat once more. He hadn't been able to keep her safe. But he would keep his promise to her; he wasn't about to fail her completely.

With ease his fingers would move down to his pocket; pulling out the revolver that always was there. Besides time, it was the only thing he could ever rely on to get the job done. Joe had always complained that he never had a sense of humor; always quirking his eyebrow in dry curiosity at one of Joe's bawdy jokes. Yet this time, even he didn't miss the irony that the same revolver he used to take endless amounts of lives would be the one to take his own.

A single bullet was all that it would take. And with the revolver firmly placed against his temple; he wouldn't miss. He had never missed that way and he wasn't about to start now.

A single bullet would bring him everything he lived for and longed for.

_Alla buon'ora._

His finger would caress the trigger; starting to place weight against it. Drawing a short breath; his lungs would expand to press against his chest. His last breath. Inwardly he rejoiced at this fact. There was no fear of death, only joy at the thought of seeing her again. This time, he wasn't going to run. This time, he would be the person she deserved.

"_Vito, no!" _

It was _her_.

There was the voice that he had waited to hear for all of these years; here was the woman who he had longed for more than anyone or anything. She was here with him, instead of just living in one of his memories. Dying had been different then he thought it would be. Death had been painless; easy; and free.

His gaze would slide to the gun that rested against his temple; tipped upwards just ever so slightly towards his scalp. Why was it still there?

Oh hell.

His lips would part as he uttered the word he had forbidden himself to ever say. "Aerith…" How he had longed to say her name! It had been a penance; a heavy tax on his heart not to be able to say it. All of these years he had sworn to himself that he would never dare to say it until death had claimed him; until he had fulfilled his promise to her. That way, his soul would be clean from his sin. For the love of a sinner such as him should never have been able to say her name; to dirty her purity with his filth.

Her gentle look would meet his; her eyes filled with pitiful sadness. Why was she sad? They could be together now, couldn't they? The hair on the back of his neck pricked as his lungs expanded once again. Vito may not have been a genius but he knew the dead had no need for breathing.

"Am I dead?"

"No" Shaking her head; she would lightly reply. "You're alive, silly." Relief rang through her tone as she stood in front of him; her slender hands resting against her sides. He knew he would lose himself entirely if she were to touch him; he would forever be lost in her embrace. There wasn't anything he longed more for than to drown in her.

"Why?" The words burst from him as he fought the rising anger. Why was he alive? "Why didn't you let me die?" He asked; his voice filled with despair. Didn't she want him to fulfill his promise? He hadn't been able to have a choice over whether she lived or died but he _did_ have a choice over his life.

And he had chosen to be with her.

Quietly she would move to kneel in front of him. Her long hair would fall in delicate waves about her face. He had never been able to find the right word to describe the color of it. Brown was an utterly too simple; obnoxious word to use. It had the rich texture of honey golden hues while embracing a darker brunette undertone. It had always fascinated him; his favorite thing to do had always been to gently, ever so gently run his fingers through it before helping her wind it into sections for her to braid it.

Unable to help himself; he would resist from recoiling as he should have. His fingers burned with the need to touch her; to wind his fingers through her hair once more. He shouldn't want her to touch him with all of his being. He was filthy; wasn't he? She shouldn't taint herself so.

Inwardly he yearned for her to come closer. No words needed to be said as she drew her hand to rest on his shoulder. Her touch was as feathery light as it had always been. She was always so gentle; so careful to everything. In his mind, she was just like the flowers that she had always tended to. Fragile, pure, and_ innocent_. Everything he didn't deserve. It was a sin to covet her; yet it was a cross he was willing to bear.

"Two wrongs don't make a right, Vito." She whispered softly.

As her words caressed his ears; he would lower his head. He felt shame wash over him. He couldn't do anything right, could he? He knew how to kill but hell if he knew right from wrong. All the lines were blurred; nothing was black and white or as it seemed. Everything ran together, morality and choices far more complicated than he ever thought.

And yet despite this; he knew she was right, no matter how much he wished she was wrong.

"I didn't protect you, Aerith." The words came out harshly; his voice contorted with pain. It was the truth that he had spent over a decade knowing. Every moment that he breathed, he knew it was a moment that she wasn't. "I let you fucking die! I shouldn't have left – I...I should have…" Desperate tears would stream down his cheeks as his hand shook; the gun's tip sinking deeper against his scalp. He had let her die just like he had let Joe die. Why couldn't he make things right? He never wanted to play the hero or the martyr, yet he had never wanted to play the villain either.

"I never blamed you. Not once. You came for me. That's all that matters, Vito."

Caught in his agony; he would flinch at her words. He who had never faltered under threat of death was completely unnerved by her response. How could she not blame him? How _could_ she? He had left her, had pushed her away from him. He had let her die. On the day he had left her; she had been so caring, so understanding. It utterly and completely confused him.

"_Is something wrong?"_

"_It's nothing."_

"_You don't look so sure. Well, okay, I understand. Go - get things settled."_

Never had he told her about what he did, about the Family he belonged to. To even have her whisper the name - _Mafia_ would have been horrifying enough. The world that she belonged to and the world he belonged to were not ones that would ever intertwine. She was hope while he was despair. She was tenderness while he was harshness. And she brought life where he brought death.

Yet she had always somehow understood when he didn't return for days on end or came to visit with a black eye or broken ribs. She never said an unnecessary word; not even when they both knew he was running away. Understanding and kindness was her nature, no matter how many times he didn't deserve it.

"Let me keep my promise to you." He whispered pleadingly.

"Isn't it time you do the forgiving?" She replied softly; running the tips of her fingers against his cheek. Her touch brought him warmth; comfort. Even his ma hadn't touched him this way, only ever receiving slaps and sharp rebukes from her. In Aerith's touch, he found love. "It's not your time yet."

_Time_. It was agonizing; time was. Since Time belonged to no mistress, it flowed continuously. It passed when people wanted it to end and it ended when people wanted it to pass. Humans would never have control over Time for it answered to no one. And everything in turn revolved around Time.

Not even Vito could make Time answer to him.

He could murder a man for not following the Family's rules. He could look on without flinching as the world burned down around him. And he could live each day on stolen breath. But nothing, nothing he could do would make Time obey him.

"Learn to forgive yourself, Vito." She urged; her fingers trailing to caress his lips.

Drawing a short breath; he would shift his glance to focus on the floorboards. Forgiving himself was something he saw no use in. It was only when Joe had died that he had started to blame himself. Love made people weak. It was a weakness that he was at fault for. He had loved Joe as a brother and as a friend. He loved Aerith as a lover would; she was the one he worshiped. It was because of these feelings that had made him weak, that made prevented him from protecting them.

For that, he would never forgive himself.

"You hold my life, Aerith. It's yours." Resting his cheek against the palm of her hand; he would unwillingly meet her honest gaze. Since the day they met; it had belonged to her. He was a man who had given no thought to life or to purpose. He had wasted it; gambling away with his life, becoming drenched in sin.

No, he would do whatever she asked of him. That would be enough to give his life meaning, knowing that he was following her will and desires. He would dedicate his life to making her happy; forever and ever. And yet to condemn himself to live with years of dreaming of her that would break his heart just as knowing he was fulfilling her desires would cause his heart to beat.

"How am I supposed to go on without you?" Without her, there would be nothing – nothing at all. He would go from this world just as he had come into it. A grim world filled with nothing.

Sadly she would shake her head. "You live for God, Vito." Her fingers would move to his hand; her fingers lightly entwining through his.

Fierce rage burned within him at her words. How could she be so accepting of this? What had God ever done for them? He owed Him nothing, nothing at all. He could have let Vito save her; he could have done _something_. But He had chosen not do anything. But – He had arranged their meeting, hadn't He? Out of everything that could have happened; all the directions his life could have taken, He had connected Vito's life with Aerith's.

He had been kind to Vito; despite his black heart that was drowning in delicious sin.

And she was there – with him. The reunion that had haunted his dreams for so long, he was living it instead of merely dreaming it. And He was had created it. He couldn't resent God entirely; he could only resent himself. He was the one who had truly failed, not God.

"No matter how far away you are... once you find your light... I'm sure it will lead you back here."

Slowly he would let her have his hand lower the revolver from the temple; his fingers unfurling from about it. The gun would clatter to the floor; the sound loudly echoing throughout the church.

He would follow His will because _she_ wanted him to do so.

Silently his body would shake with grief. He had always held a certain pride in the fact that he always said just enough to answer a question yet never enough to satisfy curiosity. In his line of work, one wrong word could result in your body being thrown into the ocean.

But in that moment; he felt no pride, only regret for his silence.

There were so many things that had gone unsaid, so many things he hadn't told her and now would never be able to tell her until the end.

Out of everything, there were three little words he needed to tell her.

"I love you."

Time seemed to become still as she smiled then. The happiness shone from her features; her green eyes seemingly embracing him. "I know." Her hand would fall from his as she gracefully moved to stand. Her transparent form was shimmering with the light; nearly gone entirely. "I've always loved you Vito."

As his gaze soaked up her appearance; committing it entirely to memory, he would whimper. It was like a feral animal; less of a man than a monster's tone. His whimper was a strangled noise of pain; the pain of letting go. He would let go of his dreams to be with her but never would he give up her.

His eyes would flutter closed as he curled his fingers inwards; his ragged nails digging into his palm. "I'll come back to you, one day Aerith. I'll keep that promise."

He would live for her. In his dreams he would be with her while his body remained in the day he hated; breathing in the air he cursed. And when the day came that he would no longer feel his lungs expanding with each breath he drew, his heart would rejoice for the world of his dreams would become reality.

"Dilly-dally, shilly-shally Vito. I never thought you wouldn't." She would laugh softly; her voice as sweet as any angel's. The bell-like noise would soothe his breaking heart, the sound providing his only tie to sanity. "No matter where we are, our hearts will bring us together again."

And with that, she was gone.

_Fin._

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><p><em>Tesoro – Treasure<em>

_Alla buon'ora – At last_

_The beginning quote is from Love Never Dies – Once Upon Another Time._

_Most of Aerith's lines were taken from Crisis Core, Final Fantasy 7, and Kingdom Hearts. _

_Vito is from Mafia II. Aerith is from Final Fantasy VII/Crisis Core._


End file.
